Madama Moth
by Darth Avery
Summary: She was his first muse. She was his shining star. She was what started his downfall. Rated T for one use of the F word, even though you've heard it if you even played the game.


**Madama Moth**

_A.N. - I'm taking a dive at Bioshock fanfiction, finally (No pun intended) I apologise for any spelling/grammar errors you may find. Try not to allow them to take away from the story, because I put a lot of thought into this idea... Before I begin (Well, end, I write these after I finish) I have to thank anyone who helps to maintain and edit the Bioshock Wikia. That thing is so useful for me, you have no idea. Enjoy! =D_

To the citizens of the underwater metropolis of Rapture, there was one place to go to take in an evening of entertainment; that place was Fort Frolic. The shops, dens, and theaters there gave any person who could afford it a good time for at least one night. The people who put on the production that was Fort Frolic reaped the benefits, especially the man who's name was on every poster in Fleet Hall: Sander Cohen. He put on the shows that filled the seats, garnered the most applauds, and received the praise and notoriety of those most important. However, on this very day, he sat in the large empty hall, stage lights bright, holding auditions for a hard to fill role: the lead dancer in his latest and most difficult to create musical, or should he say "ballet".

He slouched in the cushy velvet theater chair while watching a woman perform. He sighed to himself and thought, _Her moves, not precise enough. Her appearance is sloppy too._"THANK YOU." He shouted to her, not even moving from his seat. She abruptly stopped her pirouette, and stared at Cohen, mouth slightly dangling. "WE'LL CONTACT IF INTERESTED!" He shooed her off with his hand, and she quickly ran off the stage, her face red in embarrassment. _I will never find my lead if they are all at this level of atrocity._

"NEXT!" he shouted, his eyes shut. He imagined the music playing in his head, his andante masterpiece. He opened his eyes when he heard the tiny footsteps on stage. His eyes went from a slit stare to wide when he noticed her. She was walking to the center of the stage, with such a presense a stare was commanded. He let out a cough and quietly spoke, "..And you are?"

"Sorry," She said, placing a hand at the nape of her neck. Her voice sounded French, and her hands had the most slender fingers Sander Cohen had ever seen. Her skin was as white as one of those disgusting little girl's, but it had a glow of life, not death. Her hair was dark brown and tied in a bun behind her head, and her eyes were the same piercing green as the ginkgo tree's in Arcadia's Tea Garden. "My name is Mallorie."

"Alright." He jotted down something on his clipboard. 'Stunning features, very marketable.' "Go ahead and dance." She exhaled and got into position. With the start of his gramophone playing an unknown string piece, she blossomed out like a flower. Her arms extended above her head like the stamen of a lily flower, she balanced atop the toes of her slippers. Sander rose from his chair to observe closer, as she rose a leg into the air to do an arabesque. She outstretched her arms, and her face showed no sigh of discomfort as she stood with her right leg straight into the air. "HOLD!" Sander yelled, rushing on stage. He observed her standing there, 'Holds expression, very sturdy,' he wrote. "Alright." He nodded, stepping away. She returned her leg to the floor and took a few quick steps to the left, her lithe arms flowing behind her body like a stream. Mallorie leaped into the air, landing gently, then finally, kneeling to the floor of the stage.

Sander stood in his spot in amazement. He applauded as soon as she finished, the sound echoing throughout the large theater. "That was marvelous." Her dancing fluttering through his mind as he looked at her, he knew great things would come of Mallorie, and he would be there to make them happen. "I do believe I have not only found my lead dancer," He assured, stepping toward her and placing a hand on her shoulder, "but I have found my new muse."

---------

The work was toiling to prepare the show, but it was worth it. Every weekday, Sander and Mallorie would come to Fleet Hall. He watched her dance and drew his inspiration for the ballet. Sander felt obligated to capture her spirit in the music, and he did with every stroke of his pen on the manuscript paper. One day before this occurred, she sat on stage putting her shoes on while he organized his papers. "So what brought you to Rapture, Mallorie?"

She looked up from her shoes, but continued slipping them on. "As a child, I lost my parents to the Spanish Flu. At the time, I was enrolled in the _Ballet de l'Opéra National de Paris _as a student. My teacher took me on as if I were a daughter, and continued to pay for my education. I was a gifted dancer there, and when my teacher heard of Rapture, he chose to come here, and offered to take me with him. He told me I could find people here who appreciated my talent for what it was. So, I left with him." She dropped her hands to the side and looked down at the slippers she had just put on. Sander was standing in front of the stage, right in front of her. He looked up at her, her skin so pale and eyes so wide, and sad. Mallorie looked up at him, and spoke, "Sometimes I miss it; the surface. I remember all my friends at the _l'academie_. I was always this pale, they used to call me _La Petite Mite_..."

"The Little Moth." They said in unison. They looked each other in the eye, and Sander briskly walked back to his papers, "I think I have an idea for the story of this ballet."

---------

For the first time in her career, Mallorie peeked under the thick velvet curtain to see Fleet Hall packed. She quickly ran back to her private dressing room to finish getting ready when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," she announced, looking at the door through the mirror she was applying her makeup in. It was Sander.

"Hello, Mallorie." He was dressed in a tuxedo, ready to present his piece to the world. "This is a big night for the both of us." She brushed her rogue onto her cheeks as he talked. "There are a lot of big people out there. Rapture Tribune writers, colleagues of mine, a couple of the big wigs up at Fontaine Futuristics, Steinman, even Andrew Ryan is here with his girl!" Mallorie noticed the look of worry on Sander's face, and turned around on her stool to face him.

"There's no need to worry, Mr. Cohen." She stood up to pat him on the shoulder, just as he did when she got the part. "We have run this show many times in rehersal, and it's a wonder on human eyes. You're an amazing talent, my friend." He smiled, humbled by this woman. "You should go. I have to finish before curtain opens. He nodded and left Mallorie to her peace.

After her shoes were put on and she checked herself in her lit up mirror, she knelt under the table to get a bag. Opening it, she pulled out a bright blue hypo needle. She'd been splicing for about two months now, and loved the rush of it. Sticking the needle in her skin and injecting the fluid into her bloodstream made her forget her troubles and anxiety. She felt the rush through her body, and she was ready to go on stage.

---------

The show was perfect. Every step, twirl, and tap of the toe went off without a hitch. Backstage, everyone was ecstatic, everyone fluttered around in their costumes, adrenalin pumping. Most of them having this been their first real show, we most excited for the after party, held in the atrium of Fort Frolic. The audience members had flocked down their, waiting for the company to arrive.

In her dressing room, Mallorie prepared. She let her hair down, the slight wave staying in from being held back so much. She was already wearing her dress, a possession of her mother's, the only thing Mallorie refused to sell. She was retouching her makeup when she heard a knock on her door, it was one of the chorus members, Claudia. She was only about 16, but looked up to the prima ballerina like a sister. "Mallorie, Mr. Cohen told me he's waiting for you by the elevator to go make your entrance."

"Thank you, Claudia. Tell him I'll be there in a minute." She flashed the girl a smile through the mirror, her bottom lip painted a deep red from the lipstick application she had interrupted. She looked at herself, ready to face the people she had just performed for. Lastly, she injected herself once more. She was needing more and more ADAM every day now; the marks on her wrist becoming more noticeable. She left her empty needle in the trash bin, and locked the door behind her.

----------

"Ready for your coming out, my shining, little moth?" Sander asked Mallorie before exiting Fleet Hall. She smiled at him and took his extended arm. As they exited the theater, three spotlights turned on right in front of them. Throwing her arm in front of her eye, Mallorie was blinded temporally by the light. She smiled at Sander, and nodded once she had adjusted. Walking together, they descended the stairs as the atrium had begun to fill with applause. Looking down, she could barely see all the people standing there watching her descend with Sander. He smiled grandly, dressed to the nines in his good tuxedo, a small red boutonniere pinned to his lapel. She wore a long, silk bias-cut dress in a dark grey. It emphasized her slender figure, and displayed her beautifully to the high class citizens in Rapture.

"Thank you, thank you." Sander announced, reaching the bottom of the steps. The people in the crowd formed a circle around the two. "I would like to thank all of you for your patronage. It had been a long few months for the company, but we have put on a beautiful show." He turned to Mallorie, "I can see myself working with this talented woman for a very long time." She looked back up the stairs, noticing for the first time the poster on the wall. It was her, dressed in her white tutu, leaping through the air. "The Little Moth" It said underneath, in a curly script. "Presenting Mallorie Mort" She was embarrassed, but proud. Looking back at Sander, he smiled to her. "Now, continue." Everyone applauded, the circle formed around them caved in, and the people returned to their conversations.

"I will go get us something to drink." Sander told her, "go ahead and wander." he left her to mix with the crowd. Various people stopped her to congradulate her for such an outstanding performance. One was a strange German woman, wearing a pantsuit. She had brown hair as thick has her accent, and a tall, Asian man loomed right behind her, looking back and forth between the German woman and Mallorie. They smelled of sea salt and chemicals, and had bags underneath their eyes. When Mallorie walked away, she could feel the man's eyes on her back.

She accidentally bumped into another woman, and was about to apologise when the other woman began to speak. "Ah, so you must be Cohen's new discovery..." She had a sarcastic tone to her voice, and a stale look in her eye, "I simply do not understand how someone with so much talent as yourself could stand to work with such a talentless suck up. I enjoyed your performance, and hope someday you'll have the pleasure of working with a real musical artist." The woman turned her back to Mallorie and walked through the crowd of people, out of the room. She stood there perplexed with this woman when Sander returned.

"Mallorie! Here, here!" He handed her a glass of pale yellow, fizzy liquid. She assumed it to be champagne, "Come, follow me. Andrew Ryan wants to meet you!"

"Sander, I met a woman while you were gone." Mallorie explained, walking next to her mentor, "She did nothing but slander you relentlessly."

"Oh, you must have met Culpepper." He sounded used to this verbal abuse, "She's a dried up old floozy who can't stand to see me rise up to a higher level of fame than she ever could. Oh, here he is. Andrew! Here she is, the star of the show! Mallorie, I present you with Andrew Ryan, the great founder of Rapture." She looked at the man, he looked just as he did in the papers she'd read. A woman stood behind him, clinging to his hand, she had a beautiful face, but looked afraid to speak.

"Good evening, Ms. Mort." Ryan said, extending a hand to the dancer. He held eye contact without missing a beat, "It is a pleasure to see the citizens of my city flourishing under the direction of such artistic geniuses." Sander smirk grew to a large grin. "My fiance Diane truly enjoyed the show, as did I." The woman smiled, first at Andrew, then at Mallorie. She gripped his hand tighter.

"I must be taking my leave now," He said, turning to Sander, "You've put on yet another wonderful show, Mr. Cohen. I look forward to seeing the next. Especially if it has this lovely young woman starring in it." With that, he shook hands with Sander, and left, Diane still clinging to the sleeve of his dress shirt.

"It appears as if the crowd is thinning..." Sander said to Mallorie, "I'm going to return to my apartment. I hope you have a nice night." He took her hand to his mouth and gave it a kiss, her entire face went red in smitten. In letting her hand fall, Sander noticed the marks all over her wrist. Sander pondered it as he walked to the bathysphere station to Olympus Heights, but dropped it from his thoughts completely within minutes of leaving the Fort.

---------

After the final curtain had fallen on "The Little Moth" and the posters were taken back to his apartment, Sander Cohen sat in the projection room of Fleet Hall alone more and more. He heard from Mallorie less and less, who had retreated to her apartment in Olympus Heights. Everytime Sander tried to stop by, no one answered the repetitive knocks on the door. He'd sulk down the stairs to his own flat on the ground floor, and return to whatever he was doing beforehand.

One night about a month after the show had ended, when Sander was returning home, he noticed something odd. Kneeling down to tiled floor of main lobby of Mercury Suites, he noticed some discoloration in the pristine white of the tiled floor. They had an odd red tint, something must have happened, but he wouldn't have any clue. Continuing to his flat, he looked on the stoop of his flat and noticed something sticking out of his mailbox. Upon closer inspection, it was an Accu-Vox recorder. Taking it out, he put it in the pile of papers he carried and went into his home.

Walking up the stairs with the recorder, his papers discarded by the door, he sat the player on his desk and started it. He was in the bathroom washing his hands when he heard the voice begin, "Been watchin' that dancer gal Cohen had his eye one, Mallorie Mort." It was the voice of the Paparazzi. What did he know about Mallorie? Sander stopped, leaving the water run, to return to his chamber and listen more intently. "Been actin' real strange lately. Comin' out at night, buyin' more and more ADAM. She's comin' out right now... wait. She's climbin' up the railing.. MISS! MISS WHATER YA-- OH--- OH MY GOD--" A thud was heard in the background of the tape. "OH MY GOD SHE JUST JUMPED! JUMPED RIGHT OFF THE TOP FLOOR! Oh... god." The tape cut out. By the time it had ended, Sander was no longer listening. He left, running up the landing to the top floor of Mercury Suites.

Upon his arrival, he knew this was no prank. Rapture Security was ducking in and out, carrying out bags of things, her posessions, anything they could find. As Sander drew closer to her door, an officer approached him. "Woah, buddy. This is a crime scene, I'mma have to ask you to step back."

"I am... Sander...Fucking Cohen and I DEMAND you tell me what happened here!" His voice was trembling and he kept telling himself this was all some prank.

The officer nodded, "Oh, so your that Cohen guy." He clearly did not frequent the Fort, this man. "Lady hear holed herself in her apartment, and spliced. Drove her mad, so she jumped off the level. Killed her instantly on impact. She's on her way to Eternal Flame right now. She don't got no family, so she'll probably head straight into cremation." He noticed the devoid look in Sander's face as he spoke. The officer took his hand and patted him on the shoulder, "I'm terribly sorry for ya loss, buddy."

---------

Sander had called and arranged for a modest showing the next day, in the show room in front of the crematorium. The only people who actually went were himself and Claudia, the young dancer from the show. She spent the whole time weeping, unable to look in the casket from her sorrow. She left after only a few minutes, finding it hard to see the woman she looked up to so much in her life, dead. After she left, Sander stood alone, him and his moth, who lurked to close to the light and was trapped, trapped by it's beauty that took her too far. He looked at her in the casket. Her eyes stared up at him, but they no longer had the life they did; gone were the tea gardens that lived in her eyes. Her skin was grey, and cracking. She was a ghost, gone forever. The moth's wings had been clipped.

Home again, Sander opened his bar up and began to drink. Swig after swig of Moonbeam Absinthe let his vision blur and his thoughts become more confused. Stumbling to his bed, he noticed the picture leaning against his bookshelf: The poster for the ballet. He stared at the white figure, forever frozen in time in her valiant leap. His little moth... he wanted her back, he could bring her back, he could save her. Stumbling to his clothes, he put them back on, and retrieved his pistol.

---------

She stood in his apartment once more. The corpse of his muse stood on her toes, covered in thick plaster. Her fingers were just as graceful and her arms as lithe as the day they met. Her hair was pulled back and her head gazed to the ceiling of Sander's purple sanctuary. HE smiled in satisfaction at her. Mallorie was back in her glory, and Sander would soon be back in his. "Go ahead, little moth." He said, "Fly off. Fly off to the heavens."

_And there was my first Bioshock fanfic. Wow... Do review, if you please. Also, I have a query for those who read this. I have an idea for a story, but feel that if I wrote it it would be a piece of poo. If you are familiar with the musical The Producers, and feel like you can write comedy well, would you kindly send me an E-mail? It should be on my profile, or just PM me. Thank you for reading! _


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